


Wedded Bliss

by sadieb798



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But Not Much, Domestic, Family, Ficlets, Friendship, Humor, No Slash, None - Freeform, Other, cuteness, irritating flatmate, just bromance, no menage a trois here, nope - Freeform, platonic frienship, so don't get your hopes up, some casework
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieb798/pseuds/sadieb798
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets about the Holmes-Watson family living together happily (sometimes. Every other time. When Sherlock isn't busy trying to blow up the flat that is.) in 221B Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> This'll be updated in little spurts! This was written in response to the hate Amanda Abbington was getting because of the possibility of her playing Mary Morstan in the upcoming series 3 of Sherlock--and by extension, Mary Morstan was getting some hate simply because she married John Watson (who is a glorious character and deserves some happiness).  
> I just want my babies to all live together at 221 and solve crimes together and maybe get in rows over stupid domestic shit like why-are-there-eyeballs-in-the-toaster-Sherlock, and, how-the-hell-did-you-even-get-that-to-stick-to-the-ceiling, and, you-two-are-distracting-stop-being-morons-and-go-have-sex-or-whatever-it-is-that-couples-do.

**One.**

Proposal

 

John came up the stairs two at a time, a spring in his step and a wide grin on his face. He didn't care that he didn't know how he'd break the news to Sherlock-how could he think on that now when the only thoughts he had were on how wonderful life is? John took a quick inhale of breath before he opened the door to the flat, the words about to leave his lips when Sherlock beat him to it.

"She said yes then," Sherlock stated, his back to John.

John's mouth hung open for a few moments, and before he could stop himself, asked, "How did you even-"

Sherlock turned to look at him, giving John his withering  _Oh John really now_  look that John was a little more than familiar with. " _Please_. You've been carrying around a square shaped object in your jacket pocket for the past two weeks; you were distracted throughout the entirety of our last case- _don't_ do that again, it's annoying-and you've been gone all day. Undoubtedly to pop the question- _finally_ -and going by the state of your shoes I would say that she answered in the affirmative rather than the negative."

John furrowed his brow. "My shoes?"

Sherlock pointed at John's feet. "You're wearing your 'date' shoes, which are clean-well, to an extent. Had she rejected you, they'd be scuffed and caked in mud, a result from the amount of walking you'd have done in order to walk off your humiliation at having been rejected. Also if she'd rejected you, you would be drunk right now from being at the local pub, drowning your sorrows in alcohol. Now since your shoes are not caked in mud and you are not inebriated, it's obvious Mary said yes."

John stared in absolute awe. No matter how many times Sherlock explained how he knew things to John, he never got tired of hearing his friend's amazing deduction skills.

And he was sure he never would either.

After a few beats of silence, Sherlock said, "Also the fact that you were  _skipping down the street_  just now didn't go unnoticed either." He indicated to the window, which he had been facing a few moments ago.

John smiled and shook his head.

"A simple 'congratulations' would be okay, you know," he said, turning to sit in his chair by the fire.

Sherlock allowed the corner of his lips to twitch into a small smile at that. "Congratulations, John," he said before taking up his bow and violin.


	2. The Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so hard to write out! It was really difficult trying to figure out exactly what Sherlock would say to Mary upon meeting her for the first time while trying to keep it in some semblance of character.  
> Obviously this is going to be a bit different than what Conan wrote, so don't go expecting some Sign of Four. You were warned.

 

  
  **Two.**

The Understanding.

 

John settled into his chair the following morning to breakfast of toast and tea, but not before firing off a text to his newly-acquired fiancée. _Sherlock knows_ John wrote before hitting the ‘send’ button.

He took a bite of his toast; he didn’t have to wait long for his phone to chirp with her response. John stared down at his phone’s screen. _That doesn’t surprise me_ , the reply read.

His phone chirped again with another response from her: _So did you tell him, or did he use his powers of deduction to figure it out?_

John smiled as warmth flooded his insides. The fact that Mary never referred to Sherlock’s skills as “tricks” or anything deterring from what they actually were made John fall in love with her all over again. The fact that she was also as quick and sharp-tongued as his best friend didn’t diminish his feelings either.

* * *

Given his track record of success he had had with his past girlfriends and their reaction to Sherlock was concerned, John thought it best to introduce the consulting detective to Mary Morstan in small, erratic doses. John knew that Sherlock was always going to be a big part of his life, and all he had really wanted was for his girlfriends to accept that fact and the man himself before they could go forwards with their relationship. The fact was that they never reached that point as they felt that they were second to Sherlock in John's eyes, and sometimes the man even purposefully--and delightedly, he might add--scared them away. But John had no idea just how terrified he was about the very real possibility that Sherlock would reject Mary or how important it was for them to accept each other until it was pointed out to him by Sherlock.

"She must really be special," Sherlock commented offhandedly one night as they sat by the fire. He took on a bored expression, but John could see there was a light of excitement in his cool gray eyes. "Already a month of seeing this one and you haven't made introductions."

John, sliently cursing himself for thinking about it continually, raised an eyebrow and said, "So?"

"So things must be getting serious if you're holding out on introductions," Sherlock clarified, tilting his head in what John knew meant his flatmate was intrigued.

That was when John realized he couldn’t put it off any longer, not if he wanted both Sherlock and Mary in his life.

The following week he invited Mary to their flat for dinner.

John will never forget how terrified he was that Friday. He'd been in a state of panic the entire day until seven o’clock finally rolled around and the bell to their flat rang. He went down to meet Mary at the door. He introduced her to Mrs. Hudson, who was just coming out of her flat at the time, if only to put off the inevitable meeting with Sherlock for as long as humanly possible. But eventually, Mrs. Hudson made her excuses and John had no choice but to lead Mary up the short flight of stairs to 221B, his heart hammering in his chest. He opened the door to their flat and gave Mary the short tour, as dinner--takeaway from Angelo’s, since John had been so nerve-wracked that he had completely botched up the dinner he spent hours slaving over--wouldn’t stay hot forever.

John steered Mary into the kitchen--he had forced Sherlock to pack up his science equipment, and clean and organize, stating they were sitting down at the table for a proper dinner for once--where Sherlock stood beside the food.

Sherlock wore one of his many well-tailored suits, and a bored expression on his face, but his eyes were ever-alert and quickly evaluated Mary before John even had a chance to make introductions. Sherlock had already made up his mind as he and Mary shook hands.

That was when Sherlock decided that now would be the time to voice his deductions.

He took a sharp inhale of breath and said without a break in breath, “You are thirty-four years of age, an only child, mother died in child-birth, father absent for the entirety of your life so you were raised by extended family. You work as a teacher for young children going by the state of your clothing--your skirt is stretched out and rumbled, indicating that several small hands grab onto you throughout the day. Which going by how you’re reacting, this is how you met John, going to his clinic where he helped stitch up one of your students.

“You don’t normally date doctors, you like to keep things professional, but decided to make an exception when you met John. John is usually the one who initiates romance, but that wasn’t the case here. _You_ asked for coffee. Now John. Why John? You may have liked the way he handled your student’s situation and thought what an excellent father he’d make, which was probably when you realized your own mortality. You’re getting older, never been married, no kids. Biological clock is ticking and you won’t be young forever.

“Therefore that was why you decided to have coffee with John.”

He finished with a flourish and dropped Mary’s hand.

John was absolutely--there were no words to describe how he felt. It was no small combination of fury, panic, incredulousness, and irritation. He gave Sherlock an _oh-for-fuck’s-sake-you-couldn’t-even-wait-until-we’d-started-eating_ look before he sharply turned to Mary, expecting--well, he wasn’t _sure_ what to expect. He only held his breath and watched.

Mary didn’t even bat an eye before she said, “Wow. Do you do that with everyone or am I a special case?”

Sherlock remained impassive as he said, “No need to--”

“Because, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me,” Mary interrupted, causing Sherlock to stop short.

Then Sherlock did something that John hadn’t seen him do in a very long time.

He blinked. 

It was no ordinary Sherlockian blink. It was very slow; one that made it painfully clear that Sherlock was trying to process what had just happened, as it was obviously very far and away not the reaction he had been expecting.

“I--” he started.

“Because I’ll have you know, Mr. Holmes,” Mary interrupted, her hazel eyes brandishing a bright flame, daring Sherlock to interrupt her. “That it’ll take a whole lot more than _that_ to scare me off. And if you think I’m going to be scared so easily by you just because you don’t want me around or think I’m interfering with your plans, you’ve got another think coming.”

John was impressed. 

That was definitely not what he was expecting either, although he should have known, since Mary didn’t even flinch during their first meeting when she was standing beside a sniffling child, telling the boy it was going to be all right and that his parents were not going to be angry with him as John stitched up a very long and ugly gash on the child’s leg.

He turned his eyes to Sherlock. Now it all hung on how his friend would respond.

Sherlock frowned ever so minutely. 

After what felt like an hour, he lifted his hand and extended it to Mary again, before saying, quite civilly, “Sherlock, please. Welcome to our home. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

John was so relieved he could have kissed them both then and there.

It turned out to be one of the best dinners John had ever had.

* * *

That was over a year ago, and true to her word, Mary was not scared off by Sherlock. If anything, she and Sherlock seemed to have an understanding concerning John.

There were times in the mornings when Mary would stay over that John would find them sitting together on the couch. Sherlock would be dressed in his usual robe and sweats, and Mary would be in one of John’s shirts, sitting side by side, looking as though they'd just been whispering about him. This was going by the way their eyes would follow him as he went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Their mutual understanding, from what John gathered, was that they both had to share him. Sherlock would have John when it was absolutely necessary, when he was bored, and for casework. While Mary could have John whenever Sherlock deemed him useless. John would frown, because it wasn't right that Sherlock would get him ninety-nine percent of the time, while Mary only got the one and when did he start balancing out his time like this anyway. Regardless of percentages, the arrangement somehow worked.

For instance, no matter which case they took--except the ones that took place out of the country, or the ones that Sherlock could solve right there in the flat--Mary would be turn up out of the blue in whatever place a case took them. Just “passing through”, as she put it. It would be during those times when they'd meet up with her, that Sherlock would suddenly announce that he needed to confer with the police once more over a small detail that could be nothing or run an experiment. He'd then say that John should eat while he did this, so Mary would whisk him off and they’d go to a restaurant or a pub or sometimes just walk around eating fish and chips and talk. After an hour or two of spending time together, Sherlock would turn up with a new theory that they’d have to test, or he’d solved the case and he needed John. Then Mary would give John a peck on the cheek, say she’d see him when he got back to London and he’d be off again with Sherlock. Then once the case was wrapped up and they were back in town, Mary would turn up and they’d have dinner together. Sometimes Sherlock would join them.

John laughed. It was amazing how far they’d come.

 _Apparently he figured it out from my shoes,_ John typed. He waited a minute and let his imagination of what she’d do take over. He could see the cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she read his text, puzzling over what his shoes could possibly have to say about their engagement.

His phone buzzed.

_Your shoes?_

John had already typed up a response.

_Well me skipping home may have tipped him off as well._


End file.
